


daydreamer

by ButtercupUtonium



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:20:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22287784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButtercupUtonium/pseuds/ButtercupUtonium
Summary: I was bleeding bad, my baby girl gone, and my son standing there obviously torn. Regrets aren't new to me, especially after this last year, but if I could spare him this, if I could go back.If...BANG.I woke up, to a bright white room with the under hum of electricity and the buzz of appliances around me.Rick lay on a long couch along the closest wall to me in the room, identifiable only by the dark curls of hair from under a pink quilt. A hospital. Only Rick could find me a hospital in the middle of a civil war. And undead plague.Cries came from the baby next to me and I sighed out in relief, reaching in the little carrier to pick the baby up. Smiling down at baby's nose I was momentarily overwhelmed with relief. Definitely Rick's baby.Looks just like Carl, now that I thought of it.Carl. He couldn't be too far away.Noticing the name plate on the end of the baby's cot I plucked it from the acrylic and froze.I felt my face fill and then drain of blood flashing me white hot then blistering cold.The name plate read: Grimes, Carl.
Relationships: Carl Grimes/Sophia Peletier, Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

I was bleeding bad, my baby girl gone, and my son standing there obviously torn. Regrets aren't new to me, especially after this last year, but if I could spare him this, if I could go back.

If...

BANG.

I woke up, to a bright white room with the under hum of electricity and the buzz of appliances around me. 

Rick lay on a long couch along the closest wall to me in the room, identifiable only by the dark curls of hair from under a pink quilt. A hospital. Only Rick could find me a hospital in the middle of a civil war. And undead plague. 

Cries came from the baby next to me and I sighed out in relief, reaching in the little carrier to pick the baby up. Smiling down at baby's nose I was momentarily overwhelmed with relief. Definitely Rick's baby. 

Looks just like Carl, now that I thought of it. 

Carl. He couldn't be too far away. 

Noticing the name plate on the end of the baby's cot I plucked it from the acrylic and froze. 

I felt my face fill and then drain of blood flashing me white hot then blistering cold. 

The name plate read: Grimes, Carl.

And there was his birth date. His weight, height. 

Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled over in thick sticky paths down my cheeks. 

How?

What?

Great gasping sobs wracked my frame and I clutched my son to my chest and felt the burn of my cesarean section wound and staples as they pulled over my hectic breathing.

Screwing my eyes shut I wept.

A dream? A nightmare? 

No. There were so many good times. 

I was the terror in my relationship I know it now. I have the perspective.

Warm, strong arms came around me and Rick's familiar grumble came from deep in his chest. His morning voice. Never cranky, always low. "Hey." He said, simply. Then paused. Thinking maybe. Gauging my reaction possibly. Used to drive me up a wall. But maybe it had been warranted. Maybe he'd needed to watch himself around me for a very, very long time. 

"He's so beautiful." I finally said. 

"Yeah, He's great." That proud whisper. That light in his eyes. He loves Carl with all his heart and soul. How could I have ever doubted that?

He used to look at me like that on dates, on walks, in his parents sunroom when I'd snuck over. 

I tried to remember the details, the fuzzy almost there's. We hadn't bought our house until Carl was three. 

I don't think I could remember anything about the old duplex. Just stuffy and cramped. And baby Carl, walking down that hallway. 

"Bet you anything he gets your eyes." I said bumping my shoulder against his gently.

A rough chuckle barked out of him, causing Carl to shift a bit. "Here I thought he could have anything of yours as long as he was cursed with my hair." He was teasing me but I could feel him tense up immediately against my side. I knew why. That was exactly the kind of comment I would've hollered at him for. Started a fight for him putting words in my mouth. Even now I was a horrible person. 

How early on had I been a bitch? Forever?

Poor Rick.

"No. I'm pretty sure that's my hair." I said seriously, choked up. Overwhelmed. "Your nose." I added. "No denying that."

I poked the little nose. 

Carl scrunched his nose up.

Rick relaxed so gradually I almost didn't notice it. But I did.

Damn, I'm a bitch.

I leaned back and kissed him. He kissed me back very gently. Then he kissed my cheek. And then my forehead. 

And I cried. 

Bawled like a baby. 

Rick had to sooth Carl and eventually called a nurse.

The nurse whispered something about the traumas of births and leftover hormones and how to watch for postpartum depression.

Nothing about living thirteen years and being bumped back. 

Gradually I just sniffled and pouted, eyes red and puffy.

Rick, ever supportive, came to my side immediately after speaking to the nurse. 

I don't think I've ever hugged him so hard. 

"Where's Carl?" I asked quietly.

His hand had been dragging up and down my back gently and it paused then came back to repeat itself soothingly.

"Resting with the other babies in NICU. Just for an hour or so."

"Oh." I said. 

I snuggled my face further into Rick's neck, feeling the mess my eyes left behind. 

"Yeah, you," then Rick paused, rephrasing, rethinking. Well-trained. "You had a hormonal moment."

"Yeah. I just felt a lot of things." I excused knowing Rick would work with what I gave him.

And he did. 

Carl was back within ten minutes, much to my delight and the nurse's disapproving eye.

Rick has to take some pamphlets from her about the dangers and warning signs of postpartum. And she checked in at every feeding time. 

I didn't pay her any mind. 

But Rick's blood pressure was definitely up.

With no verbal barbs to excuse or predictable grenades to toss himself upon, he just didn't seem to know what to do with himself. But eventually he relaxes himself and managed to laugh along with me when breast feeding, something I had whole heartedly refused to try the first go around because of pure vanity, went south when all three of us got slightly wet. 

"I'm sorry!" I 'd said, embarrassed and redfaced and simply tried again. He settled. He beamed. He was happy. And I don't think I'd just let Rick be happy since before the pregnancy.

For two days of recovery I held myself together.

And then I got home.

....

Home happened to share itself with a family of five who knew we'll enough the demands of a newborn and I recalled with some shame leaving Carl with Joyce, that's her name Joyce, for a few hours a day when I had wanted a break and wanted to pout over my scarred up abdomen. 

I wanted to say I had been young and stupid. But I'd just been vain.

Vanity. Defiantly my sin of choice. 

Also, sloth.

I had dug through the boxes to the back of the closet for the book of recipe cards my grandmother had painstakingly crafted for me after my marriage. I used to flip through them when I felt sentimental for her, well used to and enjoying being free from my lack of culinary artistry. I hadn't even tried.

Now I could see the little details, how she thought pies were good for sore throats, how she preserved things in honey and vinegar and liquor. 

How well spices and plants could grow indoors and out and put it season and together in her loopy cursive. 

Bubble like words detailing how best to make and describing how to cream something and her little 'this does not mean add cream, but... " 

Teaching me. Guiding me.

If only ever seen the negatives before. How she must've thought I was stupid or lazy and how this wasn't the fifties.

This time, I'm going to use them.

Tomorrow, I will call my grandmother, who died when Carl was almost six, who was still alive, and I'd not be proud at all. I'd ask questions and mark up what was left of the margin space and I'd be stupid and fill the space in my head with memories of her. 

But, first, a stew.

Something I could throw in the crock pot. Something to show I had tried. Because even now some part of me felt I needed a reason to call.

I wiped down the kitchen counter and the sink and then sat a bit.

I fed Carl and put him in his bouncer that has taken us to month five to put up last time, a regret as Carl had loved it. 

I threw the bouncer box out and flipped through some more cards and selected the recipe for pancakes.

Every Sunday my boys had sat through the worst pancakes on earth because I'd been offended someone tried to teach me something. 

I was unbelievable to me now.

Carefully, I sifted flour and cracked eggs and whisked and other steps I never bothered with, realizing I had basically only deep fried damp flour before and that was why it has been so very bad.

Poor Rick.

"Lori?" The light clicked on and I blinked like a deer in headlights.

I forgot the lights worked and has been using what has come from the large kitchen window, from a very nearby streetlight that had used to annoy the pants off me, instead of flipping the oh so convenient switch. 

Putting a hand over my eyes I squinted a bit at him, which was all it took for him to switch it off again. "Feeling photosensitive?"

" And nauseous and gross, like I need a thousand showers. But he finally latched on a few hours ago so I'm making pancakes. "

"Pancakes?" He said dubiously. Then his tone and body language completely changed to a weird bastard of supportive and tentative.

I knew then and there he'd eat my fried flour and lie to my face that it was the best he'd ever had if that's what I chose to do. 

Rick was truly and utterly too good for me.

Instead of freaking me out and making me defensive and mean it made me weepy.

"I think I'm getting emotional again." I warned , fanning my face with a hand.

He held up both hands and slid into a chair nearest where Carl bounced and snoozed.

"He loves that bouncer. Was it your brother that got it for us?" I asked remembering writing a stiff thank you note last time around. " I want to find some sort of, " my hands fluttered around my torso, "something to hold him in place? So I don't have to sit down to breastfeed."

" My mom's been looking for something to gift us, I could pass it along. "

Rick's mother hated me for getting pregnant right before graduation. I had ruined her baby boys future. She had said so herself when she begged me to abort.

It had been sore since then the first time around. I had only invited her to birthdays, and only after his fifth. I had hung the abortion comment over Rick's head and you could've felt the second hand guilt pour off him like a tsunami.

"Like a sling? Maybe I'll go with her to 'Cozy Toes' they have tons of options." Then I whirled around, pointing at him sternly. He froze a bit. "The first two weeks though. You promised. No visitors." It has been an excuse the first time but I would really need the time to adjust myself this time.

He nodded easily. Cautious like I'd remember the tension and bad blood and be at his and everyone else's throat soon.

The pancakes were on medium heat and looked commercial perfect.

I stacked them there high on his plate and put one on mine still nauseous from the surgery. I pulled out butter and syrup and powdered sugar.

It was delicious.

As if my grandmother had come and whipped them up herself.

Rick ate them all in awe.

And in the dark.

"I'm sorry about the lights, I'll get used to them. "

"If they hurt you they stay off, if the photosensitiveness lasts for more than a few days, so you think we should call your doctor? "

Which was careful Rick saying we should call your doctor.

I gathered the plates and went to wash them, but Rick intercepted. He tossed in a wink but I let it go easily and without offense. No need for him to lessen the blow any. 

I could see that his inability to read me was weighing on him. 

He only had six weeks paternity leave. 

We'd have to find a new balance before he left or it was really going to get to him.

He washed the dishes and I minded Carl and in twelve years the dead would try to eat the living.

There was no way to prepare for this. 

No clear path set. 

In a few days Shane would crash here for the night having been kicked out and Rick would talk him into the police academy and I didn't know how I would feel seeing him again. 

But that was a problem for tomorrow.

Or the next day.

In a few hours I'd call my grandmother and have Rick make plans for me to meet with his mother and I would be better and do better this time.


	2. Tomorrow or the day after.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break down in the build up.

Shane came over a few days later as expected and even repeated history of sleeping on the couch. Which I don't recommend ever. Our couch sucked. I didn't get up and sit with them as I had last time, feigning exhaustion. 

I didn't want to see him. 

Yes, it took two to tango.

Yes, anything I said about my part was an excuse.

But I had been drowning in regrets and convinced to my core Rick had died.

I needed space. And I was still very much selfish enough to take that space.

Through thin walls I could clearly make out two voices and while it went more or less as it had with me, towards the end it faltered and turned to be about me.

"Motherhood suits Lori."

"No shit?"

Pricks.

"Her hormones got her hysterical sometimes. But she made pancakes. Dang good pancakes. And she's been real sweet, nuturing."

"Huh. Mellowed out?"

Silence.

Men.

Could I blame them? 

Probably not. 

They switched to talking about some sports game or another, I zoned out fully. Thinking about the future. Or past? My past future.

I couldn't go around telling people the world was ending. Who would believe me? I wouldn't believe me. It was hard to believe now. 

My grandmother had been happy I called. And happy that I didn't burn the pancakes. 

She offered me some baby sewing patterns. I almost turned her down but thoughts of my future had me agreeing. 

So she was going to scrounge up knitting and sewing things until I saw her next which almost intimidated me into agreeing to see her early, no lie. No joke. I'd bet you near anything I was about to get a hand me down sewing machine from someone in her side of the family. 

But clothes mending is a useful skill in the past future.

I felt like Ebenezer Scrooge. Haunted by things that haven't even happened yet.

Thinking about family led me to wonder about the group that has become our family. Wondering if I should find them, reach out. 

But what would I say? What could I say? 

My eyes closed on my swirling thoughts and I dozed. The image of Glenn Rhee swam before my eyes, somehow bearded, which goes to show pregnancy crosses a few wires in your brain.

I saw the look on his face as clear as day, terror. Confused, I went to dream say something to him. 

Then the bat came down. 

I bolted up in bed and screamed, my incision pulsating. 

Rick was just there, suddenly, I wondered if he learned to teleport. Dead walking around. Time travelling to your past self. Why not?

Shane was behind him, and thankfully I could feel nothing to the grief I now felt. Because it felt real, whatever that was. 

I had just witnessed Glenn Rhee's murder.

I'm as sure of that as I am sure I lived twelve years and died.

"Tried to sit up too fast." I mumbled eventually, pouring out sweat and dripping tears.

Rick nodded a bunch. Not like he agreed per say. More like he was showing he took that information in. 

"Hey Lori." Shane said awkwardly, smiling.

"Hi, Shane," and that was it and thankfully that was all it had to be. "Did I wake Carl?" I asked Rick quietly. He leaned back to glance into the bassinet next to us. 

"He's sleeping still."

I relaxed into Rick. "Is everything okay?" I asked looking between them suddenly aware that this was an odd occurrence at this point in time. Later on Shane would need our couch nearly every week. But that was later.

" Just needed to borrow Rick is all, " Shane said quietly, "Want me to watch the little guy for y'all tonight?"

"Are you lactating?" I questioned a bit snarky. I couldn't help it. My best behavior was still not the best behavior.

His eyes met Rick's over my head and I could hear their silent 'mellowed, huh' and felt Rick's answering stare, before I cut them off.

"Sorry. My incision just really hurts." Rick went to take a look and Shane withdrew from the room with a cheery, slightly condescending, smile and a wave. Rick felt around a bit and while I did irritate the area I hadn't pulled anything out of place. 

He smeared another layer of Vaseline over it and propped me up with the decorative pillows. Another thing I would've given him hell for. They're decoration, how will they keep shape, it's not for that.

After he'd thoroughly babied me, he straightened up and squared his jaw, determined to speak his mind most likely. Something I probably didn't want to hear, guaranteed.

He looked good. Young. But so did I, only teens when we got married and had a baby. 

His arm muscles still built more from rough housing and sports than the police training academy of the demands of the force for now, bunched and relaxed as he fiddled with the duvet on top of me. 

"I can go out and get some formula, if you need a break, Lori." He said it with a neutral tone. Leaving it up to me. Not letting me know how he thought about it. Not wanting me to take it wrong, I realized now. 

Poor Rick doomed if he did or didn't.

"I was thinking a breast pump, but that can wait until later." I leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You might need to grab some more baby blankets tomorrow though. There's a double swaddle method I think Carl will like." He had taken to it last time, at three months, Rick had suggested it. 

"I've heard of it." Rick said cautiously. Glancing up I could read in his face it's something his mother had suggested. I didn't ask this time around. Just accepted we'd both heard of it. 

Because this Lori was a better Lori damn it. I'm really trying. 

He tucked the heating pad closer to me and went back out to entertain our guest.

I spent an hour actually sleeping when Carl woke up. 

Rick and Shane were in the living room downstairs with the television on low. Some random laugh track kept reaching me but everything else was muffled.

Carl's little grumbles turned into small unhappy noises and despite my aches I managed to haul him up and onto my lap. 

He really was a beautiful baby. 

I got him to latch on. It felt uncomfortable, to say the least. But he drank strongly and fell back into sleep quickly. I barely saw his eyes open. How could I have traded this, these moments, away for anything? And he was such a quiet, peaceful baby. I wanted to ask Rick to extend the no visitors thing out a bit, if he was already making exceptions for guests, but I knew he'd take it the way old me would've said it. 

To delay his mother or to get back at him for a friend coming over. Something where my heart was out of place. 

But I really did just want to watch my boy grow up a little more closely this time.

Gently massaging his head I checked the time, which was so early I didn't even want to know anymore, and went to the kitchen, Carl still curled up against me. 

Every step down the stairs was a stinging pull at my waist. The baby weight I had ruthlessly jogged and pilated off last time still clinging to my frame. 

I didn't care as much this time around. Back then, it has been all I could think about. Resented the hell out of anyone around me. Feeling hideous.

I got to the landing and some sitcom was playing on screen, Rick's eyes already on me and Shanes head turning when he saw Rick's inattention.

Shane watched as I handed the baby off to Rick, set up the bouncer where I could see it from the kitchen, and took Carl back off Rick to be bounced. 

Carl slept through the exchange only shifting a bit when Rick pressed a lightly bearded kiss on his forehead before giving him back. 

Shane's eyebrows raised up a bit, and he took a long pull off his iced tea before talking. "He need to be in the bouncer like that? I could hold him." 

An offer I had pounced on and exploited last time. 

I had taken half my high school courses with a baby bump. I had felt, constantly, like I needed a break.

"This is the first week of six before it's just going to be him and me, and Rick goes back to work. I'm trying to find what works and what doesn't before then. Some sort of routine. If you want to hold him, wash your hands and keep a nose out for his next diaper change. I fed him not too long ago and kid's fairly regular. But he's fine and he'll need to get used to it."

I could see not only Shane but also Rick taking that in. What had Rick thought I had been doing the last couple of days? Snatching his baby away? Hogging Carl? I'm not sure but I saw it click in him that I did probably need to get used to doing it alone. A thoughtful look danced across his face for a moment before he accepted it. 

"Should we set up somewhere to set him down in here, or keep the bouncer there?"

A problem solver, my Rick.

"Not sure yet." I replied. "Carl doesn't seem to mind anything just yet, but he'll change that in a month or two."

I looked around our duplex apartment. 

Really looked. 

The kitchen was a row of four counters against one wall with a sink in the middle. There were only two upper cabinets framing a large window above the sink but before this I never cooked so lack of pantry or storage space didn't bother me. The stove was by itself in a corner, next to our closet of a laundry room, and in the opposite corner stood our old fridge. 

Out the arch between the fridge and the stove was our living room, where Shane and Rick sat on the couch, leaving two armchairs empty. 

Behind the couch was the hallway that led to our front door.

Then there was a shoe closet, a tiny dining area with two chairs and a round top table, brand new high chair in a corner. Which looped back to the second arch in the kitch, between the fridge and the countertops.

It wasn't as small as it used to feel. 

Bigger than the nomadic scrambling from packed car to packed car.

The bathroom and bedroom were upstairs. 

I think I just hated the thin walls. Big family next door, with just as small of a space as us, making it work. 

I'm used to making things work now. 

Twelve years felt like an eternity. And felt like a second sometimes. It felt like a dream. It was vividly real. Maybe I was just crazy. 

Maybe I was dead.

I hunted down some tea. Stirred in two spoons of sugar and sipped it slowly. 

Glenn. Maggie. The Greene's. Carol. Sophia. Daryl. His rude brother. T-dog. Dale. Andrea. Amy. Everyone. 

God, and everyone must be so young. 

Beth was what, four?

Sophia might not even exist yet. Carl a newborn and them being close in age and all.

I tried hard to picture Carol pregnant. 

I tried to picture Carol still with Ed.

Feeling overwhelmingly hopeless, I sank down on the floor next to the bouncer and tucked Carl in snuggly. 

I gave myself a second to get it together and I decided to do something productive. Something first go around Lori hadn't and wouldn't do.

So I started hauling out some things. Stuff I never unpacked before. Things I had never seen the need to use. 

My mother, heartbroken I had a baby so young, had been pleased as punch Rick put a rock on my finger before the first trimester was up and had splurged enough on both wedding gifts and baby shower things to make me uncomfortable. 

Not the dish set though. 

That was secondhand, in a way.

The very day I moved out my mother had grabbed up every box she could find in the house and wrapped up her whole kitchen. Every fork, dessert or not. Every plate. Every serving dish. She wanted to make sure I didn't need anything. 

She had me late in life. She worried about me.

So I just happened to be the not so proud owner of a themed set of dishes from the 60's. It was sentimental to my parents. My dad bought it for her after some big fight or something. 

And when I say themed set I mean these people thought of everything. 

It came with herb planters and a wall clock for crying out loud. 

I never unpacked it. 

It had felt weird using my mother's things and to be honest, I couldn't cook.

Still can't.

I reminded myself that making one batch of pancakes and slow cooking the rest meant very little effort on my part. 

And I felt like I had been given a golden ticket opportunity and was squandering it away. 

I needed to focus on something.

I felt like I wasn't doing anything. Like, surely I should be warning people? Finding our people?

So, while I thought things through, I unpacked.

The first box of maybe fifteen I put on the ground in front of the kitchen. It has the least heft but still brought dancing black stars to my eyes. Speaking of eyes, I could feel Rick's eyes on me. Taking a deep breath I opened the box, where my mother had just folded the corners into each other, not having tape. 

On the top were dishes I hadn't seen since I was five. 

An acrylic tumbler with the blue floral pattern and a bunny in a blue onesie on it. Tiny hearts and silver glitter hung suspended between the cup's two layers. I had chocolate milk and nothing else one whole summer, the hearts floating gently back down with each mustached sip. 

There was a sippy cup with the blue florals coming out of a red pot. The bowl and three sectioned plate with more bunnies. The vinyl placemat I could feel on my finger tips before I even reached into the box. 

I had thought there had been only the one set growing up but there were at least four of each so far.

The entire forty piece playset of dishes were there as well. Probably still had traces of my backyard mud in them. Because the sixties thought of everything, they matched in pattern.

And a sixty-four ounce pitcher and bowl set she would scrub my hands and face with every time I set foot near the kitchen. I could see the pile of washcloths shoved in the pitcher from where I sat. I had been partial to mud pies at the time. In the summertime it was a balm. In winter I remember clearly avoiding even looking in the direction of the kitchen, until the scent of cookies tempted me too much and I would have a cookie in both hands, one in my mouth running up and down the stairs until my Dad saved me. 

To this day of someone felt sick I put a washcloth dipped in cool water on the back of their neck. I wondered briefly if everyone did that or if I had simply become my mother.

I knew before Rick started to hold me I was crying. 

My mom had just packed up what felt like at least a third of my childhood in this box.

A note was at the bottom of the box. 'Yorktowne pattern, use them well. xoxo, Mama.'

I hadn't used them at all. 

I had been scared and stupid and pregnant and unready for everything. I had busted my ass studying and graduated a full year before all my friends because the baby needed me and then Rick not only got his diploma first but he landed a good job and told me I didn't have to worry, I could just stay home. And staying home was nothing but worry. Every sound Carl had made I felt helpless and small and unprepared. 

But how could I complain? Mama, Rick's too good to me. Mama, Rick's super understanding. Mama, I ruined a good man's life.

The realization that I resent Rick because I felt I had ruined his life struck me stupid because it was way too true. 

The tears paused and I could hear Rick excusing away my little episode with a little, "hormones," over his shoulder. 

"You say that like I'm terminal." I said looking straight up at him. He should be celebrating with his friends. Or looking at colleges. Instead he had me and a baby and a job where people could die any second of any day at a much faster rate than the average person who wasn't a cop. 

When Shane showed up it had felt like the other shoe had dropped, back when Rick was shot. Like finally all my fears had come true. I'd gotten him killed making wage for me. Ever since he showed up at my window like he always had, handing me a fist full of daisies or butter cups or what ever he had run into on his way to see me, and said he figured something out. 

Police academy had accepted him.

"These were mine as a kid. Didn't think Mama had kept them." I cleared my throat. "There's everything from serving dishes to silverware to Bird feeders in this pattern. Mama said there wasn't much use in only having one piece." I gestured to our kitchen. "Not by the grace of God can I get them all to fit." Rick kept on rubbing my back. Ever supportive. "I'd like to find the plates and bowls at least. "

And so looking through boxes was what Shane and Rick did while I washed the baby dishes and put them on proud display, drying next to our little used sink. 

Rick brought up some aunt of Shane's that had a set way worse, in his humble opinion. Shane kept up the laughter that we had little old lady dishes. Shane found the dish on three chains that I confirmed to be the bird feeder. Large cups with spouts used only for pancake batter were put aside by a pleased Rick. After more digging and cursing because stoneware mixed with glassware mixed with metal never truly mixed, mom's favorite asparagus pot came up and Shane started up again, "A pot just and only for asparagus?"

"There's a dish to serve it with and a special wavy spatula too." I informed them. Rick found the canning supplies, Shane found the stencil that you painted the pattern on your trim with. 

The plates were finally found but the bowls could wait until the actual morning.

We were all tired. 

Right now, in this moment, I could pretend to be normal and sit beside my husband and his best friend and just let that be. 

I fed Carl straight from the source which made Shane unsure where to look for a while, he was young after all. Rick was used to it. I had a stray stream hit him on the arm a day or so ago. He was well initiated.

"My mom called yesterday." Rick very suddenly said.

" Okay. " 

My nonchalant reply hung there for a bit. Shane was trying to make some serious eye contact with Rick. I wondered just how much Shane knew.

"She wants to see Carl, said she could stay with us for a week or so, until you've recovered."

He wouldn't have dared mention this the first time around. 

And, even the new, better me isn't that nice. 

"You're here to help until I've 'recovered' Rick." I shifted around and made some really dazzling eye contact with a pair of stunning blues. "I'm not on bed rest. He's fine with me, alone." I laid a hand over his, "And I just think having your mom here would stress me out. Badly."

He went to say something but I cut him off with a finger to the lips, "She hated me. She made me hate myself. I'm moving past it. She can visit. One day, we'll be having date nights and grandma's house would be top of the list." I removed my hand and couldn't keep eye contact anymore. Thankfully, with breast feeding there's a dozen places you feel like you need more hands, so I occupied myself with baby positioning. "But I'm not okay with anyone coming over to disturb the routine I'm trying to build." Awkward shifting had me wave my hand at Shane. "He's not here to see Carl, he's here for you. That's fine. I have to get used to you not being available. But I need this time to adjust."

Rick understood. I could see it in every part of him. He hasn't liked some of what he'd heard but he accepted it. 

"It won't be forever. But Carl was, like, literally an extra internal organ days ago. Now he's his own little human being and no matter how many pickles I eat, he's hungry on his own time. And I think my system just needs time to accept midnight pickles aren't a cure all anymore." Rick huffed out a laugh.

"I'll tell my mom to wait until visits are a thing we do. " Rick said after a moment of us all remembering just how many pickles I ate. Such a cliche but pickles are the building blocks of developing babies. Rick had kept a big jar in his inner jacket pocket for me after the second trimester. 

"Thank you." I shot back immediately. I was even genuine. "I'm totally going to go nap now. Don't forget to hunt down a blanket for Shane, if he freezes to death I'll be too busy being exhausted to help you dispose of him." 

I popped a kiss on Rick's head and took solid, slow steps upstairs to rather too loud laughter from them both.

Rick was quick to make his excuses and did dig out a tapestry style throw blanket of the blue floral variety from where he must have unearthed it earlier, telling me so as he made his way to his side of our bed and helping me get the blankets and pillows ready for occupants again.

Mama would take an inch off my hide. The throw was as decorative as my pillows. 

"Good, but we should get something a bit warmer. Didn't someone give us a bedset?" I clambered into bed, Carl asleep again in his bassinet only about half a foot away from me. 

"You're thinking of the bath towel set I think." Rick said after giving it some thought and shaking him head. He climbed into bed and we snuggled up as best we could with Rick not wanting jostle my fragile bits.

I wasn't.

The towel set was sage green, overly fluffy, and each towel could wrap around me twice while covering from arm pit to knees. 

I freaking adored those towels.

The bedset hasn't been given to us yet, but it would be bright puke orange with birth control level flower print to rival the stuffiest of old ladies couches. His aunt had given it to us. His other aunt gave us the towels. A mixed bag, the Grimes family.

Same aunt, same color, on our first anniversary, sent covers for the toilet seat. And toilet tank. And a voucher to get our bathroom measured for carpeting. Bathroom carpeting was more like a specially measured wall to wall rug. But I had given it a hard pass.

His finger trailed little patterns into my hand and he kept an intense gaze on me. 

His thinking tells.

"Last time you stared at me so much we made a baby." I joked.

He didn't smile.

"My mother really make you hate yourself?"

There was a long tense moment.

"Yeah. I'm working on it though."

He nodded his little I-heard-you nod and pressed a kiss on my hand.

"Stop that, there's like four weeks before I can handle that." I teased.

His eyebrows shot up and a smile started to over take his face. "Handle what?"

"'Handle what?' he says." I mocked tsking. "Honestly. It a miracle Carl didn't come sooner. You utter cad."

Rick wheezed with laughter he tried to choke down. "Pardon? What did you call me?"

"You heard me."

"I beg your pardon, little miss?"

"You can beg all you like, Rick Grimes, I have four to six weeks before any of your shenanigans will be happening. " I raised a snooty nose in the air.

"My shenanigans? Why, Mrs. Lori Grimes, I'll have you know those were our shenanigans and if I'm a cad what does that make you?"

"Long-suffering? Saintly? Mrs. Cad, at the very least." 

He bit his lip and I could see his fingers flex where he wanted to dig them into my sides and tickle torture me.

It threw me back to long nights in my parents screened in porch, under the window in the living room where I had snuck out so he wouldn't have to climb to where my bedroom window was.

Talking with Rick until all I could see was where the light caught and held onto his blue eyes and the flashes of his teeth as he smiled. The dizzy stirring through my whole body when he would press a kiss on my lips and warm me from the inside out. Turned on from a kiss, I figured was something to do with my complete lack of experience. But Rick never really lost the ability to warm and tighten things low in me. 

"Did you always want kids? I don't remember if we talked about it or not." I said quietly as we calmed down.

"Dozens. Love kids." He cleared his throat, rough and too loud in the hush of our room but Carl slept on. "But, I know the c-section really freaked you out. We don't have to have more, Carl's perfect." Rick stressed this and I felt bad, because I had never asked before. After Carl I had never considered it. "Did you want kids?" He asked and I guess it wasn't as sudden as it felt but I was momentarily throw through a mental loop.

"Maybe not dozens. But at least one of both? A boy and a girl." I shrugged. "Maybe a younger sibling not too much younger than Carl. If they're close in age they're less likely to fight, right?

"Maybe," Rick replied but he had a brother he didn't talk to, hasn't talked to since his graduation. Which nowadays wasn't so long ago.

I didn't press him. 

Ricks family had been the least understanding of our situation. 

His mother's apology must have been a doozy for him to still be in contact. 

"I love you, if Shane wakes this baby up I'm shooting him, night."

A breath of laughter rustled my hair and Rick's "Goodnight, Lori." Was more air through my hair than actual words. And that's what I fell asleep to.

Every two hours we'd be up for an hour sorting out which ever end of Carl's needed assistance until actual morning rolled around.

"Goodnight, Lori."

Closing my eyes this time, I was pissed to realize the only real thing I had accomplished all day is be upset and unpacked boxes I should've unpacked months ago.

Tomorrow, definitely tomorrow I will do something worthy of being the one sent back.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days after that, though not two weeks by anyone's reckoning , I had just got done washing my hair in the bathroom sink before Rick's family, led by its matriarch, shambles through my front door. 

Shane was still dead to the world on my couch, having come over early in the morning, shitfaced, ahead of schedule, and Rick was white faced and holding a very squirmy Carl. 

I'm in thick, red pajama pants I'm sure were Rick's because they fit around my post partum pouch, an oversized black cotton t-shirt that smelled very strongly of Rick's Old Spice deodorant, and a towel around my head to keep my damp hair up and out of the way. Our towels sucked. 

Towels were definitely going on the before the apocalypse list. 

I took Carl from Rick, ignoring the 'days too early to be anywhere near me' group and patiently waited Rick out. 

He cleared his throat some and went to talk to his mother who stormed her way to me. "Well? Give me my baby."

I blinked a bit. 

Nope.

"Rick's grown. If you want him, tell him." And I shuffled my ass into the kitchen where the invasion was only cousin Cher and her husband Paul who were both here with a guy I couldn't for the life of me remember. 

How bad did you have to be for everyone your husband knew to completely disappear from your life?

Rick and a groggy Shane were fielding the ball in the living room. 

Rick's uncles found it funny. 

Cher cleared her throat and successfully got my attention. "He looks so sweet."

Pleased because, yeah, Rick and I made some cute babies, but weary because who visits like en mass in newly weds that were also new parents, I simply nodded and gathered up the end of the shirt to slip Carl in. 

"You're breastfeeding?"

Leaning back against the countertop I simply nodded again. 

"That won't do at all. How will he take formula if he gets used to having it fresh?" She seemed legitimately upset. "How will I feed him?" 

Taking a deep breath the 'don't be a bitch' mantra played in my head and I tried not to take everything so seriously. 

"Rick and I were going to look at breast pumps."

"I live in New York, sweetie, your milk will be sour by the time it reaches me."

I think my brain short circuited. 

"Why would I send you my breast milk?"

"For my baby, of course." Everything behind my ears honestly grew a bit fuzzy after that. Until she introduced the man I didn't know as an adoption lawyer. 

Sometimes, in the apocalypse, being a bitch was probably necessary. 

That's the only excuse I have. 

"Anyone," I said, voice quickly over taking the room beyond us, "Who knew this stranger you let into my house was an adoption lawyer, needs to get the fuck up out of my, my husband's, and my baby's life."

I stomped over to the stair landing, captivating my audience either because of my very commanding 'speak to your manager, I'm a sheriff's wife,' voice, or my crazy appearance. 

"How actually dare you? What if I had been having doubts? I'm young. This baby thing's new to me. Taking advantage of a new mom? What if I had postpartum depression? Scamming uncertain women out of their babies? Just wait. I'm going to call a lawyer. I'm going to call the news. And if you don't leave right the fuck now, I'm going to call the police."

And the lawyer, stumbling to get his briefcase he left by our door, and stumbling over his feet and stumbling over his words, left in an awful big hurry, apologies spewing forth like dog vomit, very sudden and extremely unwanted. 

"Bye." I said as I kept a sharp eye out until he drove off. "Cher, Paul, never call me again." They got blotchy faced, hopefully in shame, probably in anger. "I mean it, that was low." I met Rick's eyes. "That was tragic."

He put himself between me and his family and Shane followed suit much more awake and looking close to how pissed off I felt. 

"He cost me $450 bucks! Just for today!" Came Rick's mother's irate voice.

Suddenly things made both less and more sense. 

This was why Rick cut a lot of his family off. 

Not all of it had just been me. 

I'm not sure how to process that.

Rick greeting the lawyer last time around would've scarred him. That he hasn't told me ever showed he had doubts over what my choice would've been. Whether or not those doubts were valid didn't matter. Right now, they hurt. 

Next door, our neighbors started seizing the day.

As everything gradually got too loud for me and a now fussy Carl to handle, I decided to take him back upstairs for a bit. 

I pulled Carl out from my shirt and tucked him into his cot efficiently then smoothed his covers lovingly. Like most newborns, he slept. 

The cutest time bomb ever. 

And them I went back into battle, shedding the towel from my head on the way. 

"Just so everyone is clear - even if I hadn't been pregnant, he asked me, I'd still be here." It was quiet. It was true. "If it had been five years down the line. If it had been a year earlier. I was always going to run off with your boy." I looked her dead in the eye. "He only had to ask."

And then she punched me in the face.

Ricks uncle Markus out her in some sort of martial art hold, with her hands behind her back. 

But the damage was done. 

In the hazy aftermath, with me holding a hot water bottle to my cheek, it came down to the people who lived here, and Shane, and Rick's sort of estranged brother. 

Who just stood there a moment and I must've blocked out some of the fight after that, because he looked roughed up too, said, "Would you've? If she asked you to?"

There was a pause and Rick nodded. He looked incredibly fond of me. Looked over like he was proud of me or something. Even when I was gross and my face was punched up. 

The phone rang and Rick went to get it. 

He was gone a while so that left me alone with Shane and Rick's brother, Jonny.

Jimmy excused himself with a few awkward coughs and directions to our rest room.

Then it was just me and Shane. Shane and I. Good buddy Shane. Creepy to date Shane. Tells you your husband is dead then sleeps with you Shane. 

Rick came back into the room and motioned to Shane to get up and give us some space. He obliged, a world of questions in his eyes. 

"Lori." He knelt down before my knees and gripped my hands on his. "Lori, that was the hospital. It's your grandmother. She-"

He froze and I could see him reorganize his thoughts. 

My lips were tingly and cold tho. The rest of my face felt too hot. Tears already welled up in my eyes and I looked from one of his bright blues to the other, willing him to say what he needed to say. 

"She passed. Car crash. Said it was too sudden to-, she didn't hurt, Lori."

I flung myself down in his arms, getting him all snot covered and tear stained. 

How?

What could I have possibly changed that impacted the outside that much? She was supposed to have six more years. 

How?

How?

How?

The phone rang and Shane picked it up in the kitchen. 

"Can I take a message, now's not a good time."

Silence.

Then the scratching sounds of a pen to paper and I took the distraction and got a grip. 

Sort of.

"Does my mom need help with the funeral?" I asked knowing she must be a wreck too.

"No, Lori,your grandma has had everything picked out since she turned seventy, from what I understood. No. She um, she put you in charge of making sure it goes well. In fact, we, I-I will go and check that she's as she wants herself. You can stay right here and -"

"Carl never even met her."

His hands gripped mine and we sat for a moment. 

"I know Lori. I know."


End file.
